


An Adventure

by Kitt_Monroe



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Gen, Spoilers for chapter 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitt_Monroe/pseuds/Kitt_Monroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsumiki cuts her hair. It's a big deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Adventure

Everybody was a little surprised to see it at first.

Nobody really mentioned it, but you could tell they were surprised and some of them a little confused. They would sort of linger and keep glancing at it while making conversation with other people, like they were wondering if it did tricks or something. Then sometimes there would just be silence, probably caused by the people having said conversation stopping to have some sort of telepathic conversation where you just look at the thing you're interested in, and the other person gets the message and makes facial expressions in response. She tried not to look at the people having these telepathic conversations, worried it would make her seem petty and offended. She was petty and she was offended, but she didn't want them to think that.

It didn't actually do tricks. It was only a haircut.

Although, she wondered, was it possible for haircuts to do tricks? If they were elaborate enough, possibly. Like if you shaped your hair right (and had enough of it) you could put bamboo tubes in it like in those pretty Chinese souvenirs where the water goes through the tubes in sequence?

No, that would take too much hair and too much hairspray.

Well, the point was the previous night Mikan Tsumiki had decided to cut her hair.

It was...

An _adventure._

The idea had come over her a little after Night Time started. It wasn't like one of those ideas where you get the idea, and then you mull over it for anywhere from hours to days and ask for advice from your close friends about whether it's a good idea before you finally come to an informed decision about whether you should through with it. No, this was one of those ideas where you get the idea and you know you have to put it into action immediately (mostly because you recognize that any further deliberation will end with you forcing you to admit it's a monumentally stupid idea). It was the greatest idea, really--she had wanted to make a change to herself somehow, and she really had been trying to work on being less of a doormat but that wasn't changing fast, so why not change something about her appearance? Her hair was getting to that length where it was difficult to wash, anyway, and it wasn't like she could get less attractive (especially if she believed what Saionji said, which she generally did because Saionji was probably right she _was_ an ugly pig oh dear Christ she was hideous), right?

So she had rushed to the supermarket to buy/sneak out a pair of scissors (seriously was there anything that place didn't have? if she were a betting woman, she wouldn't say so) and, totally ignoring a constant warning from her parents to never run with scissors, did exactly that and rushed back to her cottage.

Suffice it to say, she had never cut hair before. She didn't know a lot of nurses who had, really. Unless, she supposed, it was necessary for medical purposes. Did that ever happen? Maybe to get to the scalp for cranial injections... But, ok, that wasn't the issue. She had stood there in front of the pathetically small washroom mirror Monobear had supplied each of them, stood there for like twenty minutes chopping off veritable chunks of her dark, she-was-pretty-sure-they-were-supposed-to-look-like-a-very-saturated-brown-but-in-most-lighting-they-were-slightly-violet locks. On a stroke of weird genius that she decided might-- _maybe_ \--be of use, she saved a few strands in a zip-lock baggie so that if she were to die, but some or any of them made it off the island, and it turned out science had developed cheap cloning in the time they had been gone, the survivor(s) could submit her hair for DNA replication. Obviously that wouldn't do her personally any good, but it would be nice to die knowing the Mikan Tsumiki epigenome would live on.

She figured if she was going to die it would be because someone would kill her. Probably painfully. She probably deserved that for being so useless (ever since Komaeda had had his epic and ungodly disturbing freak out thing, though, she tried to make sure never to sound too much like him in this regard--her classmates had every right to kill her, sure, but she certainly wasn't going to assist them). It was just that she could never imagine being able to kill anyone.

She had taken the time one evening to map out a list of people to avoid because they seemed very likely to kill; the dubious distinction went to Kuzuryuu, Komaeda, Pekoyama, and Nidai. And then she had made a list of people to avoid because they seemed so kind and generous to her that they might just be playing her in order to get close to her and kill her; Koizumi, Hinata, Mioda, and Sonia made that list. And then she had made a list of people to avoid just because they were the kind of people you avoided; Tanaka, Saionji (who, it should be noted, always managed to locate Tsumiki anyway), Owari, Souda, and Nanami were her picks there. And that left...oh. Right. Nobody.

It wasn't easy for her to make friends. That much was obvious. The thing was she really wanted to make friends, but somehow she always got in her own way. Making introductions with Hinata, for example, had not gone stellar for her: the first thing she had thought of to say was would she be allowed to remember Hinata's name. Why. Why would she ask that? Of course, it hadn't gotten better--her next course of conversation was to complain that she didn't know what to say. As if Hinata cared whether she had anything to talk about, he probably thought she was boring and a moron just like everyone did.

She readily admitted to herself that she let people walk all over her to get attention. She figured that if she let people do whatever they wanted to her, they would like her. It made sense in theory, right? If you allow a person to do what they want, they'll be pleased, which means you'll have caused them to _be_ pleased which should mean they would be pleased with you.

But no it really didn't work that way.

All it did was get people used to treating her like trash and reinforce in her the idea that she was _supposed_ to be treated like trash. Not a good feeling.

So she was working on that. The only problem was that she couldn't stop herself from worrying that if she stopped being submissive waste, people might stop even thinking about her. She knew that almost certainly wasn't true, but the part of her that thought it might be wouldn't stop eating at her.

Thus the desire for a change. If she altered something about herself, maybe, just maybe, she could keep the attention of her peers long enough for her to fix her attitude. Make herself more of a person and less of an alley wall where people draw graffiti all the time.

And cutting her hair would certainly get her classmates' attention.

Ok, so the haircut wasn't spectacular. It was a bit uneven, a bit uncoordinated, sort of clumsy-- _like me, in a way,_ she had thought as she admired/resignedly accepted her work. But for all its flaws, it was sure to pique everyone's interest. Maybe someone would even ask her about it.

Well, so far today no one had asked her about it, but it had certainly attracted some stares and the aforementioned telepathic conversations. She could always tell when they were having the telepathic conversations because people near her would suddenly stop talking, appropos of nothing.

There wasn't much talking going on. It seemed, somehow, like she was the most important thing going on today, and she felt so unbelievably selfish for thinking it but...

Really, it was nice. She was used to people paying attention to her because they were bullying her, not because they were genuinely interested in her.

She just ate quietly, not daring to look up and meet anyone's gaze lest she be seen as self-impressed, which, as opposed to petty and offended, was something she was very much _not._

In her peripheral vision, she saw a faded green skirt approaching her. "Mikan-chan?" greeted the scratchy but coolly soothing voice of Super High-school Level Photographer Mahiru Koizumi. It wasn't unlike Koizumi to greet her in the mornings--the energetic redhead said hi to everyone at every opportunity--but today her voice betrayed curiosity and a genuine desire to converse. About what, Tsumiki was sure, and she was delighted.

"Um, hello, Koizumi-san," she replied, looking up at the photographer and subtly brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Did you do that yourself?" Koizumi inquired, sitting down across from Tsumiki without being asked.

"Oh! Um, yes..." Tsumiki answered, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. As proud-ish as she was of her hair, she was still bad with accepting compliments.

"Well, it looks marvelous," Koizumi remarked with a grin. "Us short-haired girls have to stick together, y'know?"

With that she giggled and patted Tsumiki's arm affectionately before hopping up and strolling over to the table she had presumably sat at before, which included Saionji and Mioda. Tsumiki knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but she couldn't help overhearing what was said when Koizumi returned to her table.

"What were you doing talking to that hideous nipple?" Saionji wondered, a little too loudly for Tsumiki to assume she _didn't_ mean for Tsumiki to hear.

"I was just complimenting her on her hair," Koizumi explained, sitting down. "I think she did a good job of it, don't you think?"

"I agree!" Mioda beamed. "Mikan-chan really knows her way around a pair of scissors!" Suddenly she put her hands to her temples and switched totally from her cheerful demeanor to appearing in deep thought. "Although that could be bad if she's gonna try to kill one of us."

"Ibuki-chan, not so loud!" Koizumi whispered harshly. Tsumiki failed not to giggle there; the three girls all turned to look at her, and after a far-too-long staring contest between the two parties Tsumiki returned her line of vision to her food.

"I don't get why you would ever be impressed by something that mousy barf bag did," Saionji muttered. Tsumiki had to hand it to the dancer, she was _really_ creative with her insults.

"Hey, Hiyoko-chan, that's not nice," Koizumi scolded her. "I know you're not on great terms with Mikan-chan, but you shouldn't say things like that. Besides, are you gonna tell me you don't like her haircut at all?"

Saionji grumbled something Tsumiki didn't hear, and then all of a sudden two crescent-shaped blonde pigtails had replaced Koizumi's faded green skirt in her peripheral vision. "Hey, you," Saionji barked.

Tsumiki looked up--oh wait no she didn't, she just raised her head to its normal height. Because Saionji was so short.

No like seriously Saionji was 4'3". This was a seventeen-year-old girl.

Anyway, Tsumiki raised her head to its normal height and made direct eye contact with Saionji. That was something that was very difficult to do, even if you weren't as much of a doormat as Tsumiki, because Saionji had some incredibly intense eyes, eyes that made you feel like she could glare holes right through your face. Souda liked to joke that the Japanese army could use Saionji as a torture device and just have her glare at prisoners until they talked.

Then, if he was stupid enough to say it with her in the room, she would turn the glare on him and he would repeat it after she left except he wouldn't be joking.

Anyway, Tsumiki was on the receiving end of that look right now, and after several seconds, during which she became acutely aware that, still, nobody else in the restaurant was talking, she swallowed and answered, "Yes, Saionji-san?"

Saionji blinked, and suddenly the glare was gone, replaced by a slightly condescending stare, which was still not fun to have looking at you but nowhere near as frightening. "Nice hair," she chuckled, almost like it was a joke except not quite. Her expression shifted further to one of vaguely mocking glee; the gesture was completed by her grabbing the ends of her kimono sleeves for maximum cute effect. "Maybe from now on you'll actually wash it!"

Tsumiki had half a mind to tell Saionji she was one to talk--for the first several days they had been here, Saionji had flat-out refused to shower on the grounds that she apparently was unable to tie the obi on her kimono by herself--but she knew that would spell certain doom for her, and plus she would never be able to get the words out to actually _insult_ Saionji, and she'd just end up looking like a moron. So the thing she said instead was, "Thank you very much, Saionji-san! Y-you have no idea what it means to me for you to say that!"

Saionji rolled her eyes and went back to her table.

It was a small--infinitesimal, really--victory, but a victory nonetheless. And with any luck, she might keep getting attention for her new hair. After all, she had spent some effort on it, and it was a lot better than letting people abuse her.

Maybe? Maybe, people would like her for this? She felt so conceited and worthless for hoping such a thing, but she was used to that.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hinata rise from his chair and start shuffling toward her. Komaeda, who was basically his self-appointed entourage, followed suit.

Wow, this was gonna be a good day.


End file.
